Things That Are
by angelofplottwists
Summary: Sometimes it takes being almost eaten by vengeful birddemons to deal with denial. Sometimes even that does no good.
1. Things That Are Said

_Full title: Things That Are Said (But Never Voiced or Never Meant) _

_Written as taking place just following chapter 141, but does not necessarily have to be. Slight spoilers. I've read all chapters thus far, so while they are not mentioned, they've probably_ _influenced my writing._

_And unless I'm very much mistaken, this is the first xxxHOLiC piece I've submitted here. Meaning you should review. Except that should be a given.  
_

* * *

It had been simple enough in the running away, a quick solution to throw away the bait and save themselves. When Watanuki yelled at him about the chickens, Doumeki had assumed this a sign that all was well. 

Passing under a streetlight, Watanuki paused, the proved that this was definitely not the case.

He was shaking. Doumeki had quickly ignored the next near-death experience in a long list dating back from when he'd met the boy, once they reached safety and were unharmed. He had not thought Watanuki would be so affected. Of all the scrapes they'd been through, this was not even in the Most Dangerous list. It didn't really warrant a lasting mark, in Doumeki's eyes.

Well, apparently he was wrong.

"Hey," he said, opting for a softer tone. As predicted, Watanuki switched his whole attention to his apparently delinquent friend. But instead of a scathing tirade, he merely replied with a sullen "that is _not_ my name!"

"You all right?" Doumeki continued. No point dancing around the subject, although that was a practice he did not indulge in anyway. He'd get to the point eventually, so he may as well make it sooner rather than later.

"Of course I'm not all right! If you happen to remember, we just got chased by insane bird demons planning to chop us up and eat us, and now you're asking if I'm _all right?_ Is there something wrong with _you_?" Watanuki glared with the ease of daily practice. Doumeki realised with something akin to surprise that he was being asked about his own well-being, in a sideways and possibly subconscious way.

"I'm fine," he stated, wondering how with such a vast difference in vocabulary they managed to communicate the same thing.

"That's not what I meant!" cried Watanuki, but Doumeki rather suspected it was.

--

When they arrived at the temple, Watanuki glanced nervously around him, and so Doumeki held open the gate and let it speak for him. "It's late," he said, as a reason.

"I don't need a chaperone!" the boy retorted, but did not protest further as he walked in and the gate was shut behind him. And that was how everything happened, wasn't it? Doumeki would ease into new routines cleanly enough that Watanuki never noticed until they were no longer new. Perhaps this one would stay.

Perhaps it would stay.

There was tea to be made, and Doumeki made it to give the other boy time to adjust to his surroundings. He tried not to listen to closely for activity in the next room over, tried not to be _too_ eager to return. When he did, it was to a much mellower Watanuki who did not appear to notice the returnee. He was gazing at the door, back turned, but Doumeki could see his expression in his mind's eye and it was hollow and painful.

"Tea," he said, to break the mood. As predicted, when Watanuki spun around his face was merely surprised, covered over thinly with irritation.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" he snapped, but it was clearly just a show. The evening's episode seemed to have shaken him. Doumeki was filled with the inexplicable urge to walk over and support him with both arms, calm him down. Instead, he poured a cup – two cups – and mentally sat on his hands. The gesture would fail spectacularly if he attempted it.

Nothing was said for a while, but the silence turned awkward too quickly and left Doumeki with nothing to say. He was rarely verbose, but it seemed as if all command of language had left him and he was reduced to sipping his tea and trying not to wait for Watanuki to lose patience and say something, anything.

It didn't take long, regardless. "I…thank you," he mumbled into his cup. Doumeki was momentarily surprised again. Thanks was a foreign gesture. If he laboured for it, he would have given up long ago, and as he did not, he wasn't sure how to deal with it now that he had it.

"For what?" he finally inquired, lacking anything else to say even though he had a pretty decent idea of the answer.

"Well, the tea," Watanuki began, swirling his. "The hospitality." It was impossible to see his face – he'd turned it – but Doumeki had a sneaking suspicion that it was currently bright red. "And…" The rest of the answer died a premature death as silence took hold again and the boy floundered, losing his control over his airflow.

Doumeki felt as if he was obligated to reply in some way, but he still had nothing to say. He settled on the redundant "it's late," realising as the words left his mouth that he was repeating himself. "We should sleep."

The "we" went by unremarked upon, much to his further surprise. Watanuki only nodded, turning his now clear face back. It was strange, how foreign and awkward the silence felt when there was absolutely nothing to say. Doumeki stood and left the cup where it was, finding a spare shirt for the other to change into. To his relief, he didn't receive another thanks.

He left the futon to Watanuki, finding some spare bedclothes and arranging them to his liking on the floor nearby. The other boy protested, but not enough that Doumeki relented. He reflected that he probably would have not relented anyway. That went beyond general hospitality; Watanuki should not sleep on the floor. Call it superstition, call it protectiveness, or anything, really. It just wouldn't have been right. Just like lunch without him, or not being ready to go on a wild rescue mission.

Whether this had always been the case, or something new, was not important and probably doomed forever to be unknown. It didn't really matter. Just so long as he had his routine, and it wasn't disturbed by the not-right any more than normal life demanded (or perhaps abnormal, where Watanuki was concerned), he could be content.

And moments like this, lying and listening to the other boy's breathing slow and grow even, he could be happy. So it didn't matter.

He was just about to wonder how much Watanuki would object to that statement when he drifted off to sleep himself.


	2. Things That Are Not Said

_Full title: Things That Are Not Said (But Implied, or Even Though They Are Voiced) _

_and here is Watanuki's POV. _

* * *

He couldn't explain it, not really, but somehow the events of the evening alarmed him far more than they should have. Just another brush with death, right? Another frenzied flee, another mad dash for safety? Encounters like this were commonplace in his current life. He was – as horrible as it was – almost used to imminent doom. 

But ever since that horrible realisation of the extent of what he'd forgotten, Watanuki Kimihiro was more in tune with his present. His original family was gone, and had been gone for years. He didn't even remember their names, or faces. His family now was full of strange and often annoying people – and some who weren't even human – but it was, more importantly, _his_ family, and _there_. And so now when he came near death, the threat had expanded. It wasn't just a matter of himself, living or dying. Now there was loss involved, a separation from people he realised were more important to him than pretty much anything.

Even, much as he hated to admit it, the singularly annoying Doumeki who even now was looking back at him, expression nigh unreadable. Even Watanuki, who prided himself on being able to read the looks on his sometimes friend (a fact he would never admit aloud) had to admit defeat.

"Hey," Doumeki called back at him.

"That is _not_ my name," Watanuki snapped for appearance's sake. It wouldn't do to make it obvious that he cared what happened to the other boy. It wouldn't do to make it obvious that he had been fearing less for his own life but more for the loss of everyone else's were he to disappear.

"You all right?"

Thanking whatever deities were watching over him at the time (and hoping they weren't hungry ones), he grabbed at the opportunity to find a more comfortable path for his thoughts. "Of course I'm not all right!" he began angrily, beginning a tirade listing (not quite) all of the reasons that this was the case. A very small part of him took the opportunity to appreciate the concern, but Watanuki stepped on that part hurriedly without missing a beat. "Is there something wrong with _you_?" he finished rhetorically. It wasn't _concern _that caused Doumeki to look back, he added in a silent rebuke to the small and rebellious part of his mind. It was _subtle ridicule_. There was a _difference._

There had to be. He didn't think his already-fragile equilibrium in life could hold up to a realisation that he and Doumeki were simply friends, not rivals or enemies or…

Best not to think down that road just now.

"I'm fine," Doumeki replied, as usual ignoring the rhetoric and misinterpreting the question.

"That's _not_ what I meant!" Watanuki insisted, desperately believing his own words.

--

Opportunity to reconsider his belief came later, when they arrived at the temple and Doumeki invited – nay, _forced_ Watanuki to stay the night. But the latter shied away from wondering why again and instead agreed with minimal opposition, not really looking forward to making his solitary way home and liking the idea of being able to reaffirm the presence of someone he…was used to by looking sideways.

Strange, how Doumeki had become an emblem of safety.

Best not to wonder.

Doumeki left, saying something about tea, and Watanuki surveyed his surroundings. He'd been here before, more often than he was really comfortable with, and he was even less comfortable with how familiar it all seemed. As if it was more of a home than his apartment. As if it was as all right for him to be here of a night as it was to be at Yuuko's.

And his thoughts did chase down that long-avoided path. How _had_ this come to pass? Once he and Doumeki had, if not hated, at least disliked each other a pretty large amount. Then Doumeki had started saving his life – first one Yuuko's command, but from then on of his own volition. And something had changed. For him, it was presumably an extra chore on his routine (Wake up, eat breakfast, school, annoy Watanuki at lunch, more school, be prepared to save Watanuki's sorry ass, sweep temple grounds), but for the recipient it had meant a serious re-evaluation of his principles and opinions that he'd been putting off for a while.

Perhaps it was time.

Watanuki considered the facts. He was indebted to Doumeki…probably for the rest of his life. And then some. It was a debt he would never be able to pay off, even if he made lunch forever. He didn't resent being alive. It was simply the fact that someone he disliked so was responsible. But as no one else seemed likely to step up and take Doumeki's place (if they were even capable), there remained one unexplored option: stop disliking him.

Easier said than done, of course. Despite the debt, and grudging gratitude he'd never been able to properly express, the guy was an annoying bastard at best. And worst. And there was no doubt about the fact that he said many of the things he did simply to provoke Watanuki. But considering the reaction (a storm of insults, all at top volume), it wasn't as if it wasn't completely unjustified.

And he didn't really _want_ to like the jerk, anyway.

Perhaps that wasn't entirely true. They did manage to have serious conversations and had for quite a while. These seemed to be happening more frequently lately. And Doumeki _did_ get along and perhaps even care about Kohane-chan, which would put even him in Watanuki's good books. To some extent. So there was some basis for friendship.

Well, more than some. A lot. And Watanuki had no idea what to do with it.

"Tea," announced Doumeki, returning abruptly and startling Watanuki out of his thoughts. He spun and snapped, not feeling nearly as irritated as he privately expected. The former did not reply, but poured two cups of tea, looking as if he was holding something back.

This was new. Doumeki did not often have something to say, but when he did he wouldn't hold it back. It wasn't in keeping with his supposed character.

Well, for that matter, a lot of things weren't. That didn't mean they weren't things he did. Like saving Watanuki, for instance. Calling on outside sources for help. Getting angry. Being gentle.

There was a gaping hole between them, profound and obvious in that they both had something to say but wouldn't make the jump to say it. In Watanuki's case it was because he did not want to end up indefinitely on the other side. But he had to say something, and he had an idea what this something should be.

"I…thank you," he finally mumbled, busying himself in his cup. But the tea did not give him any answers as to where he should go, what to say next.

Neither did Doumeki. "For what?" the archer asked with a fleeting look of surprise.

"Well…the tea," Watanuki began, thinking he could start small and work his way up. "The hospitality." He floundered, not knowing what to say next, how to express the magnitude of what he'd been given in all the time he'd known Doumeki. "And…"

There was nothing he could say. The attempt died young in his throat, a wordless desperation that could never be voiced even if given its own. He instead looked miserably at the door, aware that his face had turned red and that the door would not help him here.

But to his amazement and further gratitude, the topic was not pursued. "It's late," Doumeki said, the phrase Watanuki was beginning to suspect as meaning many things and as volatile as the seemingly impassive face the archer wore. "We should sleep."

We, thought Watanuki with an inward humourless laugh, and stopped trying to interpret what had been said. Maybe it was to be taken at face value – maybe Doumeki was as lost for words as he was (possible but unlikely) and was merely saying the only thing he could.

Maybe they weren't so far apart after all.


End file.
